The sky was entirely devoid of clouds and sparkled with such an intense, vibrant blue hue that made Onochie want to lose himself in the grandness of it all. He felt especially small—but at the same time, weirdly safe—while standing in the middle of his compound, slowly blinking at the breathtaking beauty far above him.

If he could, he would make sure he fixed his sight on the blue canvas forever. Sadly, he had no forever to spend feeding his eyes with good views as there were always more important things to do.

Speaking of feeding, he could hear his stomach speaking in riddles that did not need complicated reasoning to be translated to hunger. He felt especially famished from watching the nosy rooster, that would not leave his side, peck at the grains of corn he tossed to it.

He wished he hadn't previously skipped the morning feast he was entitled to. But he had no choice as his insides had vehemently protested at the thought of receiving even a tiny crumb.

On such a beautiful day, it would be wrong to lie to himself by saying this was the first time such had happened to him. Frankly, he'd already lost count of how many episodes of the likes that usually kept him from eating throughout the day.

It was no surprise that the queen mother chose to jab at his eating habits and complain profusely about his weight, which apparently—as she'd pointed out infinitely—seemed to be worse at the end of every week. That was the only time she was permitted to see him, being the king, and according to the laid-down traditions of the land. Yet, Onochie thought as he slowly shook his head, she decided to pay attention to how much fat he had present in his body instead of other relevant matters.

Sighing depressingly, Onochie took notice of his heavy eyelids that were slowly becoming droopy. Besides the queasiness he often experienced that kept him from ingesting any food, he also was having poorer nights of sleep.

Just before the crossovers into the later half of virtually all the nights he spent in his room, he found himself thrashing around in his bed without reason. He could not get any shut-eye, no matter how hard he tried. And he did try quite a lot.

Despite the severity of the many concoctions the queen mother had advised him to take, there had been absolutely no improvement in any way. Onochie was tired and wholly wearied by his situation. He had expected that the troubling would stop after performing the ritual the native doctor had put together and overseen for him, but he was mistaken.

At the shrine, he had been required to bathe in water containing smelly, odorous leaves and boasting an ugly brown colour for twenty-one days. It made him shudder to think of the absolutely awful experience. There was literally nothing that could make him view the processes for his cleansing with less disdain than he had allocated them in the first place. Yet, after all the ceremonious rituals, he'd remained the same without change.

The moments he spent with Ozioma were his only times of peace and serenity. Oh, how he wished she could be with him every second of the day. He did not need sleep when he was with her, as he was wide awake, thrumming with unseen energy that invigorated him.

However, he'd noticed a downside that whenever he left her and eventually returned home, he was always exhausted beyond words could explain. The high he experienced when he was with her crashed after surpassing its peak, subsiding into pressing tiredness that drained him entirely. He'd so crave sleep and rest of his body, but it would not come.

His insomnia worsened in those nights. This probably should have kept him from meeting up so frequently with Ozioma, but the high he witnessed when she was draped across his body made him feel as though he were on fire. He could not stay away from the heat her companionship gave him.

"Ozioma, my love." He murmured, feeling his heart starting to palpitate at the impulsive recollection of some of the times they spent together. He truly missed her.

He shut his eyes tight and held himself back from going into further details as he did not desire an erection from imagining the feel of her body in his arms. Many servants were roaming about in the process of performing their duties, and he did not want any unwanted attention on him or for an addition to the sets of rumours that were already being passed around in the palace.

Onochie reckoned, with a sly smile, that he might have to deal with the issue at hand to put an end to the floating rumours. The gossips had initially been about the woman he was in love with; Ozioma was one of the principal suspects. Next on the rumour-list was that he would be getting married sooner than later. Word even went around that he already had an heir.

An utmostly prevalent one recently surfaced after the last gathering he had with his officials, that he would be hanging the heads of his head-chiefs on spikes in the market square in three days. Onochie had found this one amusing, especially when he considered the fact that only men—palace guards and the chiefs themselves—were exclusively present in his meetings.

The conclusion then was the gossips had started with the men that were present on that day. Who knew that males who detested and reproached the deeds of gossiping could be capable of the very act and, therefore, so fickle?

Despite there being many other hearsays, Onochie had not been fortunate enough to catch more of the palace maids, or the palace guards as a case could be, circulating any other untruths.

To end the rumours, he would have to put his foot down. In fact, all he needed to do was feign anger at the turn of things in the palace, and all would be done to appease him. It was one of those many advantages as well as disadvantages of being a king.

With a contorted expression on his face, Onochie mused that sometimes, he somewhat confused himself quite finely. He was seldom convinced of who he was or what he wanted. At times, he enjoyed his power, but this wasn't so always.

Further, no one knew who he truly was deep on the inside, and it saddened him. They did not realise how mostly unsatisfied with his life and existence in general. To be clear, he did not wish that he was not alive. He enjoyed the act of living as it was with all its endless pleasures, though he did not fancy the pains quite as much. In fact, he'd be lying if he said he didn't detest their very existence.

Although this was not in any way the reason for his self-berating, it most certainly did not lighten the onerous weight that seemed to be bent on rounding his back. Onochie did not know many burdens that had such tenacious determination to pull him down but was not surprised as he knew how well he deserved it, being a king who was not the fittest for the throne.

If he let himself ponder on the issue, it became a part of his reality that he had failed in almost every aspect of being a king. Honestly, he did not think any king of Zoro had ever struggled to rule the kingdom as he did. Practically nothing worked for him.

His chiefdoms were against him, lobbying for laws that snatched away his authority as a ruler whenever they could and often behind his back. But then again, from a perspective that he often chose not to consider, he could not really blame them. He had no right to point fingers at them when he hadn't yet proved himself to be a king Zoro deserved.

Reclining farther on his chair, he recalled how he normally drew a blank when he was asked to comment on happenings in the village. He knew little about the way the court was run in his absence, and whatever he did grasp was as a result of the countless times he was made to learn about them.

To make matters worse, he could only pretend that he was learned and farsighted to a certain extent. For example, when he was asked what should be done regarding his people who were suffering, he found that he could not devise or offer up a single solution. He had neither a well of knowledge nor a box of experiences to reach into for help, and thus he was once again inefficient.

Despite all his parlances of caring essentially about his people's afflictions, Onochie noted shamefully that he had not done anything to alleviate their difficulties. There was admittedly little doubt that could hold a definite place in his mind and so let him succeed in convincing himself that he was nothing short of a coward.

Indeed, his cowardice shamed him. None of his deeds as a king had made their conditions any better. What good was he king if he could not do at least that much for his loyal subjects? And the people of Zoro were faithful to him.

Even in the dry seasons where their harvested produce would benefit them more by making money from their sales, and in the times the rain refused to water the earth and their crops, they still found a way to send the same amount of food to the palace.

Onochie knew his people loved him. Even though he hardly had the opportunity to go out and meet face-to-face with the masses, he'd seen enough of their appreciation for him, especially during festivals where he went on a parade around the village.

The fondest memory he had of his parades was one where he'd, on a royal horse, outflanked by the majority of his guards and some of his officials, marched through Ugumo. His act was not a common practice as the farthest regions of Zoro were often ignored by the king and his entourage during momentous celebrations.

He could vividly remember the looks of joy on the people's faces as if it was yesterday. They'd been surprised, quite pleasantly, that he decided to tread that far instead of settling at the middies of the village.

Many spread their beautiful, colourful dresses on the road for his horse to walk on. Onochie had felt guilty about the work they'd obviously have to do afterwards in order to clean the clothes, but he let the guilt dissipate into fluff when he saw how happy they all were.

Their pure joy and happiness kept him in high spirits throughout the day, particularly after an older woman hurriedly followed the moving party to offer him her blessings. There were very few elderly people in the village as a foreign disease—Onochie happened to know nothing about as he was only but a youngling—some years ago, so one could count themselves lucky if they found one to bless them sincerely.

A lesson the king took home that day was whatever he did for his people was not doing them a favour. He was the one who benefitted more if he were honest. Their endless love kept him sane.

In the palace, it was almost like he was locked up administering to and with a pack of wolves. Every smile, praise and acclamation was fake and forced solely to gain favour from him.

Therefore, it was a humourless irony that he had minimal power to spare as a supposed king. In the past, he'd tried to change what did not appear to be right in his eyes, but he'd been met with opposition countlessly.

There was no doubt that the extent to which he could manipulate his kingdom's affairs were controlled by the council of treacherous officials—to be particular, the one leading the legion was his head chief, who he still could not remember his name.

My head might be malfunctioning. Onochie mused as he tapped on his skull. The rate at which he forgot things that were supposed to hold importance to him was, to put it lightly, shocking. It was even more of a hindrance when he surmised that he easily forgot many other details he happened to receive even though they weren't names. The name-recalling, nonetheless, was by far the more detrimental.

He wasn't sure, but there could be something wrong with him that he had no clue of. It would most certainly explain the troubles he was glowing through. "What have you become, Onochie?" He questioned himself, noting how frequent his movements of self-pity and wallowing were becoming. That was no behaviour befitting of a king, he was sure.

Instead of dwelling on his apparent misfortunes, he supposed that he should call for a substance that could be placed in and finally pacify his stomach. He'd been hungry earlier but now, he felt the urge to have a drink. A strong one too.

The guards on duty were stationed barely five feet away from his shed. He motioned for the one standing closest on his right to make his way over to him.

"Your majesty," he crouched just outside the shed. Onochie noted he was one of the taller guards, and his mind drifted to Kamalu. He wondered if he was on his way back from the task he had sent him on.

Shaking off the curiosity that was swirling in his thoughts, the king turned back to his subject. "Request for the palm-wine that has already been tested by the cupbearer. It is the wine given to me as a gift from that chief." Onochie was referring to the chief, the chubby fellow who had suggested that Zoro's borders be opened.

Surprisingly, he had formed an amicable relationship with the chief in the past few days as he found him an honest man. His name, of course, had escaped him. Once again.

"Do you mean Chief Okorie, my king?"

"Yes, him. Bring me his palm-wine."

"Right away, my lord."

"What is your name?" Onochie asked.

"Ifediaso, Your Majesty. But I am called Diaso." The guard replied with awe in his voice as if surprised that the king would ever care for the name of a mere servant.

"Diaso, I see. Remind me of it when I call for you next time. You can depart now." Onochie instructed, then gestured for his leave.

After a very brief period of time, Diaso returned with the palm-wine and a plate of boiled eggs. Onochie smiled happily at the sight as his appetite had been resuscitated by the food. He dismissed the watchful guard, then proceeded to crack open the eggs.

For an unknown reason, the wine did not appeal to him like he thought it would have. So, he focused on feasting on the cooked unborn children of an unknown hen.

While he chewed slowly, the cockerel, he'd tossed some grains before, reemerged from wherever it had previously hidden. "You again?" He shook his head at the curious creature. "Do you want from this?" He questioned the obviously dumb animal, then threw crumbs of the egg he'd halfway eaten down to the ground.

The fowl pecked at the shredded particles once or twice before suddenly drawing back. Onochie wondered if it knew the source of the grub it had received. Truth be told, if he weren't so convinced that feathered beasts were not capable of such high reasoning, he would have concluded that the rooster just did not want a part in what it would have deemed an evil—eating one of its kind.

"Have some wine instead, then." Onochie grinned, spilling a small quantity of the drink to the ground. The cock flapped its wings as it descended on its thirst quencher. Its benefactor watched, amused as it gulped it quickly, though a seemingly tricky feat taking into consideration its curved beak.

Delightedly, Onochie stared on at the busybody of an animal. Then something wrong began to happen. It began to twitch, the bird. What is going on? Onochie's eyes widened at the event transpiring before him. The already huge globes in his head expanded even further as the fowl soon started to convulse.

"What is going on?" His hand shook, upsetting the contents of the calabash, and he abruptly dropped the ware to the table. "Guards? Guards!"

The sound of five horns blared throughout Zoro, the known signal for an emergency.
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A/N: Will edit this chapter soon loves:)